The Perfect Bride
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March, 1822
TWO HUNDRED and twenty-eight suitors, she thought. Dear God, how would she ever manage, much less choose?
Blanche Harrington stood alone by one of the oversized windows in a small salon, outside the vast room where soon, the invasion of callers would begin. Just that morning, the black draperies that indicated she remained in mourning had come down. She had avoided marriage for eight years, but even she knew that with her father’s death, she needed a husband to help her manage his considerable and complicated fortune.
But she dreaded the deluge—just as she dreaded the future. Her best friend swept dramatically into the salon. “Blanche, darling, there you are! We are about to open the front doors!†she cried enthusiastically.
Blanche stared out of the window at the circular front drive. Her father had been awarded his title as viscount many years ago, having made an impossible fortune in manufacturing. It was so long ago that no one considered them nouveau riche. Bl ... read full excerpt from The Perfect Bride ebook